


The Shadow of a Prince

by bellestrashprince



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: F/M, expect no less from a beast!adam fic, i've been writing this since may please support, so angsty and fluffy at the same time how do i do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 02:17:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12201888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellestrashprince/pseuds/bellestrashprince
Summary: After finding out that the Beast is actually human, trapped under a curse, Belle becomes curious and ventures one night to the West Wing to find his portrait, only to be caught by the master himself. What ensues is an intimate moment between two souls, bonding for the first time over their childhoods.





	The Shadow of a Prince

She really shouldn't be here, Belle tells herself as she tiptoes across the dusty marble floor. Up here everything is different. In the East Wing the servants have at least tried to clean up with open windows and vibrant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, glistening from the candlelight. The West Wing is much more dark and moody, she ponders as she creeps closer and closer to her final destination, the darkness engulfing her, swallowing her whole, minute by minute. Up here there is no light but the stars in the night sky and the moonlight creeping in through the windows. Outside the moon hangs high and proud, its lunar grey light shining down on the uncut hedges lined up in well-ordained rows, casting large, haunting shadows on the snow-covered ground.

Belle continues on, the soles of her boots beating silently against the marble beneath her, landing with a hollow _thud_ by each step. She knows she shouldn't be here, shouldn't be doing this. The last time she got caught in the West Wing the Beast had banished her, roaring at her with all the strength he could muster. In that moment Belle had been so scared and embarrassed and humiliated, all at the same time. Frankly, she'd hated him then. Hated his fangs and how they pushed back his upper lip, hated how shiny his horns were, how the moonlight chased around the edges, hated his blue eyes that seemed to scream of pain and loneliness. She'd wanted nothing more than to leave, to return to her father and Villeneuve and her normal life. But since the moment she saw him curled up in the cold summer snow, waiting for death to claim him, something had changed. With all that she knows now she feels ashamed at her behavior that night, at how she'd walked into his private property and, essentially, his heart, how less than delicately she'd handled that blood red rose that was his final life line.

So why was she returning? Belle should be terrified, she knows. She should feel her heart racing so fast she can hardly breathe, and yet here she is, head held high with a sense of determination in her gut as she nears the heavy wooden door. The answer is quite simple. The Beast had changed simultaneously as she had. He'd been just as terrified as her, with a stranger in his home who could gawk and laugh and point. Belle had done none of those things, and doesn't intend on doing them either. They'd both been so stubborn, never relenting to the other's wishes. If Belle had wanted to go outside the Beast would automatically want to eat dinner. In response she'd finish her meal quicker than usual in defiance, and leave as quickly as possible, leaving him alone by the table, growling to himself. As of recently however she finds herself lingering at the dinner table. They never utter so much as a word to each other, but there is a newfound sense of comfort in that silence that they share. Perhaps Belle is starting to warm up to this creature she'd now discovered was a man.

When the servants had told her that night how the Prince had been cursed Belle had felt almost overshadowed by her guilt. The servants had tried to comfort her, but to no avail. _How could she have known?_ That burden loomed still, heavy in her heart.

Nearing the doorway now, she can tell by how the darkness falls at the very end of the corridor. She knows the way, however, and thinks perhaps it might've been a good thing that she'd come here previously. She stops at the end of the corridor and traces her fingers delicately against the broken wood, careful not to prick her finger on any potential splinters. With a light push, the doors open and she's inside.

It's exactly as she remembers it. Lonely, dreadful, horrid to look at. Belle studies the ornate wall decorations in the form of vines as they twirl across the room, around pillars, resting on window panes. If she squints, tries to ignore the torn curtains as they hang lifelessly from the ceiling and the pieces of glass from broken mirrors spread across the floor, she can almost imagine what it was like before he changed.

With a quick glance Belle makes sure that he's where she thought he would be, and sure enough the large figure of a beast lies in the great canopied bed, body moving up and down as he inhales and exhales deeply. Hopefully, if she's quiet enough, he won't wake up, and if he were to she'd simply make the excuse that she'd come to check up on him to see if he was getting any better since the wolf attack. She prays that he won't, in fear of how it would feel to be discovered by him of all people in such a compromising position. How shallow must she appear, a young woman who's just found out that the man she's been spending so much time with is in truth a prince, trying to find evidence of what he truly looks like underneath it all? No, it is better this way. He'll never find out.

Belle is thankful for the one golden chandelier that is still lit as she creeps her way towards the family portrait she's previously spotted. It's hard to tell in the dark, but she thinks she can recognise the Beast's blue eyes on the little boy perched in the middle. She's seen this particular painting before, but never in this light. The first time she saw it she didn't think much of it, presuming it was of the family who had lived in the castle previously. In a way she had been correct. But now that so much has changed the imagery has a much deeper meaning. The little boy looks so proud and confident, the opposite of the man that is asleep in this very room. The man she has come to know was merely a shadow of his true self. Belle pities him.

"What are you doing?" a low grumble of a voice speaks up. Every muscle in her body tenses up at the sound. Belle stands still, barely breathing. When he receives no reply the Beast growls under his breath in frustration. Slowly she turns around to meet him. He's still lying down in bed but his eyes are wide open, studying her in a way she hasn't noticed him doing before. Not in an unkind manner, perhaps, but with a sense of wonder.

"I-" she begins, but for some reason she can't find the words. With a loud huff the Beast slowly pulls himself out of bed, to Belle's unrest. "No, please. You're too weak!" she calls out.

He stops for a moment to consider her words, but then proceeds to stand up and pull on a dark cape emblazoned with silver vines. His large figure slowly makes his way to her, and for some strange reason this is the moment when her heart decides to flutter rapidly against her chest.

"Belle-" he mutters her name and her breath hitches in her throat.

"Please forgive me. I'm so sorry. I know I shouldn't be here." He stops a few steps away from her, no doubt afraid that he might scare her away if he were to come too close. His burly silhouette overshadows her own petite one, blocking out the glittering moonlight.

"Then why are you?" he asks in a careful tone, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Belle pauses for a moment, considering all her options. "They told me about the curse," she confesses finally.

Displeased at her answer the Beast, no, the Prince, turns away from her, eyes looking at the ground. "They shouldn't have. You shouldn't have to have that burden on you."

"It's no burden. I feel like it brings me closer to you, helps me understand you better." He scoffs. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be snooping. I guess I just got curious. I came here looking for your portrait."

The silence that hangs in between them is not as comfortable as she remembers it to be usually. Belle basks in it for a moment, hoping he might say something. The Beast still has his back turned against her. She's glad in a way. It makes it easier for her to confess her sins. When a minute or so has passed without as much as a word being spoken between them Belle decides that she has lingered too long.

"Forgive me. I'll leave you alone", she says before turning on her heel and walking towards the door.

"There's another one," he says then, stopping Belle in her tracks. "I'm much too young in that one. If that is what you wanted. To see me."

She tilts her head towards his voice. "You would do that?"

"I'm awake now anyway, and I don't believe I'll be able to fall asleep again."

"Thank you", she says, the words almost a whisper, hanging in the air between them. He sighs deeply before walking towards a corner hidden behind a large candelabra. Belle follows him closely.

"I'm afraid it's not much. It's not exactly in," he clears his throat awkwardly while rummaging through a stack of frames and paintings, "immaculate condition." He pauses for a moment, his breath hanging heavy in the air, his claws prying into the golden frame of one of the paintings. He pulls it out then, handing it over to Belle without looking at it.

She holds up the top, leaning it backwards just a bit as the lower part of the frame rests against the cold marble floor, and Beast sits down on his bed, closing his eyes not in tiredness but as a way of hiding. This way he doesn't have to look at the portrait, nor be pained by the ugliness of his paws.

The portrait is just as beautiful as she's imagined. The brush strokes gentle and even, the colours vivid and eye catching, a cruel reminder of the dullness of his present attire and their surroundings. The gashes in the canvas clashes against the stunning work of art, something harsh and violent to disrupt the delicacy of the figure behind them. Instead Belle tries to focus on the man in the painting, studying his facial features. He has a strong jaw, and long golden locks in loose ringlets framing his pretty face. He is undeniably handsome, a sharp contrast compared to the man sitting on the bed in front of her. His eyes are the same however, she recognises. Though strange to think, it is truly the same man underneath it all. As Belle's gaze moves across the canvas she's hit with a sudden thought.

"What's your name?" The Beast stiffens up, his dark silhouette unmoving as his thoughts run haywire inside his head.

"Adam", he says then. Belle lifts her gaze to catch any sign of emotion on his face but sees nothing. "But I haven't been called that in years."

"Adam," she whispers his name under her breath, her eyes never leaving his face. "You’re beautiful."

He looks up then, deep blue eyes meeting her warm chocolate brown ones. "I'm afraid I was quite ugly back then." Belle opens her mouth as she's about to speak, but Adam stops her. "The way I behaved, treated other people..."

"Is that why she cursed you?"

He nods. "No matter how hard I try, there's no other way to explain it. I deserve it. She was right to curse me."

At a loss for words Belle turns her head towards the portrait hanging on the wall. “Are these your parents?”

He grunts in reply, never letting his eyes wander up to the people in question.

Perhaps it scars him, Belle considers, to be reminded of the life he lost. The young boy in the painting looks so happy. So young and innocent and proud. That last adjective is the one thing she can find of him in the other portrait. There’s something about the dullness of his eyes in that painting that makes her almost uncomfortable. The shade of blue is the same one as the ones she’s peered into from time to time, but his eyes are so different in the present. Though he does not always look at her (recently it seems he prefers to study the ground beneath his feet much rather than her eyes) when he does there is a certain something about them. What, she cannot say. Perhaps it is the way they seem to be screaming of loneliness and pain. How lackluster her eyes must be compared to his utterly enchanting ones. Belle feels like she could stare into them for ages and still not exactly understand them.

“She’s beautiful,” she says as she rests her eyes on his mother’s warm features.

“She’d better be. That’s why he married her,” he falls silent then, the silence that fills the room painfully empty. When he speaks up again his voice is filled with regret. “She deserved better.”

“Why won’t you look at them?” Belle asks bluntly.

Adam raises his head just slightly so he can look at her, eyebrows furrowed as he huffs in frustration. “How could I?” When Belle doesn’t understand he continues, forcing himself to confess. “It is enough to have them staring down at me day and night, judging me. Her I understand. I was just a boy the last time she saw me. But _him_ ,” Adam scolds at his father, his movements as he speaks picking up the pace with his anger. “What right does he have? He was no better than me. I’m sure he had at least a dozen of mistresses. He certainly had when she died.” The dark fur on his back stands up, stretching out the fabric of his cape, and his fangs are showing like they usually do when he can't control himself. Heartbroken and full of empathy, Belle sits down next to him and places a warm hand on his arm. At first he pulls away, shuddering, but then warms up to her touch and lets her fingers gently squeeze his arm.

“I'm sorry. I know I should be more careful,” she says shamefully. “It's just hard to understand how a person could not want to be touched.”

Adam raises his drooping head just a bit to look her in the eyes. He sighs heavily, and Belle detects a hint of a tear running down his fur-clad cheek.

“My father…” he struggles. “He wasn't just unkind to my mother,” It seems almost like he doesn’t know what to say, like he doesn’t have the words to express his feelings. Belle waits patiently to hear his story.

“He was a very cruel man, and he took advantage of her. My mother was very selfless and sacrificed her own safety for mine. But, when she died I had no one to protect me. I was only a little boy. 10, I believe. I turned to my only friends, my guardians, but my father was quite talented at scaring others. At my darkest hour, when I needed them most, they stood by silently and watched.

When he died I tried to forget the pain, most often by drinking or being intimate with a woman- if you excuse my honesty -, but there's something special about having a father like that. Those scars will never heal. His strikes are like phantoms on my body, the bruises he left aren't visible but they're still there,” Adam pauses for a moment. Belle looks on, helplessly. She's hoped to get to know him better, but hearing the story from his lips is even more painful than having Mrs Potts tell it.

“I remember the first time he hit me. I was 8, and practicing my archery in the garden. Mother sat on a bench nearby, and he stood and watched, a shadow looming over me. In his presence my hands trembled and I missed the target and hit a tree instead. Before I knew it I had a black eye, the bruise festering on my skin like a disease.”

He looks up at her and upon seeing the pain in Belle’s eyes he smiles sadly. “Don't worry. It only occurred once or twice when my mother was alive,” he says, as if that would make things better. “But that is why, if you must know. For many years the only touches I had were his harsh ones, and they were enough to last me a lifetime.”

Another tear escapes and rolls down his cheek. In a moment of bravery, Belle reaches out and holds his cheek in the palm of her hand, her thumb caressing the soft fur. “Your mother sounds like some woman.”

A melancholy smile creeps across Adam’s face, and, hoping she succeeded in comforting him, Belle puts down her hand. “She was my hero.”

“I never knew my mother,” she ponders. He looks up at her, blue eyes watery from the memories. “She died when I was very young.” Her hands are in her lap, playing with her fingers, weaving and unweaving them from each other.

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Belle looks up and looks into Adam’s eyes. They both hold their gaze. She furrows her brows as she tries to fathom the man in front of her. _Who is he? What is he thinking right now?_ Even though she’s never felt as close to him as she does right now she still can’t really understand him. He’s a phenomenon of a man, an impossible enigma, an unsolvable riddle. In a way, Adam reminds her a bit of Agathe, the beggar woman in Villeneuve. She hadn’t exactly been Belle’s friend, but there was a mutual respect between the both of them. In this moment she feels that same way about the mysterious Prince.

“I-” she stutters, having to catch her breath for a moment. “I should go. It's getting late. Mrs. Potts would kill me if she knew.”

Adam laughs a bit, and Belle catches sight of a certain sparkle in his eye. She hasn't seen it before. It catches her off guard. She sighs heavily once and heaves her body off of the bed. She's not exactly a tall woman and her feet dangle a few inches from the floor where she sits next to him, so the action takes some effort from her.

Reluctantly, Belle strides across the wooden floor towards the heavy door, slowing down by each step as her head is filled with images of a young Adam and the ruin of a portrait she saw. At the door she pauses for a moment, her hand gently resting on the innate brass handle.

“Belle?” he calls out from the bed. She turns around at the sound of his voice and finds him tucked back in bed, his blue eyes studying her ferociously.

“Yes?” she takes a step toward him.

“You can stay here if you like,” Belle blushes violently. _Has he known all along?_ How she prefers to stay by his side and listen to his ragged breaths, watch him anxiously turn in his sleep, than to sleep in her own room? It's all out of kindness of course, she tells herself. She wouldn't want him to be left all alone in this ghastly room to restore his health. And she hadn't exactly had a choice. She'd escaped with a hair of a margin, only to be forced to return to the castle. “Unless you don't want to, of course. I'm sure your suite is comfortable enough. I didn't mean that you have to, only that-”

“Adam,” He falls silent at the mention of his name. “I'll stay.”

He smiles slightly, the ends of his lips curling upwards discreetly as he tries to hide his satisfaction. Belle tries to picture what he'd look like now if he weren't trapped in that body, if his outward appearance were just as human as he is. She imagines him blushing, the apples of his cheeks flushing a soft peachy shade, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he'd try to avoid her gaze. She smiles fondly at the idea. It's a pretty picture.

She walks up towards the bed, her footsteps echoed by the soft creaking of the wood, and takes a chair from his desk and puts it down by the opposite side of where he's sleeping. Belle slumps down against the soft cushioned back, feeling a bit more at ease now that she can keep an eye on him. She'll sleep well tonight.

Or maybe she won't, she considers. Adam will be within a moment’s reach. She'll be able to hear his heart beat steadily in his sleep, the small puffs and huffs he makes subconsciously. Quite soon she feels the melancholy seeping in. How truly horrible it must be to be trapped in another body, to not even feel at home in who you are, nevertheless where you live. Belle feels her body fill up with sorrow. The first time she'd seen him she'd considered him ugly, a horrid, monstrous creature that was going to do horrible things to her father. Now that she knows him a bit better she can’t believe her initial interpretation of him. She studies Adam’s profile as he lays on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He has such kind eyes. Lonely, lovely, tired eyes.

“Tell me more about your life.” He turns to look at her as she tries to find the words to describe his situation. “Before…” Belle thinks on how to phrase the rest of the sentence. She gestures towards his animal-like body. “All this.”

Adam _harrumphs_ and turns his torso slightly so he's almost facing her. He begins his story, painting a picture of an extravagant lifestyle, of a loving mother who was his all. He tells her of his first visit to Versailles, when he was a young boy at mere 6 years old. He'd run around the gardens, taking every chance he had to study each and every flower they’d had planted there. The King hadn't been too happy about his over-enthusiasm, but he would’ve disliked having a child in his palace no matter how well Adam had behaved. The Queen, however, had taken a liking to him. During their short visit he'd become her favourite, her even going as far as letting him sit in her lap once after dinner. She'd showed him her dressing room, letting him dress up in her jewellery and look at her ribbons and feathers to his heart’s content.

 _It’s a lovely story_ , Belle thinks as she rests her head against the mattress, closing her eyes so she can really imagine what it must've been like. She feels like she is transported to another time, another place, when he speaks. It's almost as good as reading a book. _Almost_.

Adam’s calm voice guides her to sleep and Belle falls asleep in the West Wing, something she'd never thought would happen, her head resting on her crossed arms that are placed on his bed. She does feel a bit better knowing he's safe, that she can help him within a moment’s notice if need be. She's right where she belongs.

It's an intimate act, not really proper for an unmarried lady to be so close to a man who's not courting her. Belle thinks nothing of it, but then again, she's never been a Princess.

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie I've been writing this since I first entered the fandom, but you all know how I am with procrastination. I just felt like I needed to finish this and post it before I continue writing my college au (get hyped).
> 
> As always, I hope you guys liked it! And if you did, please leave kudos or (even better) a comment telling me how you felt or what you liked or just whatever really.


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